When we arrive back at camp, Sacha brings me in.

He has a bowl of borscht. My mother favored the soup. It was never my favorite, but I can taste it now — the beets, cabbage, and onion flavors blending together into something that is sour yet satisfying. There is meat there as well, real meat, as I haven't had since several days before my arrest. It had been a special occasion even then.

My mouth is watering, and I realize this must be a trick. What is Sacha planning?

He pushes the bowl towards me. "I heard about your little performance yesterday, gaining the trust of your work crew. I like that sort of initiative. So this food is your reward."

I grab the bowl and eat hungrily, before he has a chance to change his mind.

"But you need to know, such tricks are not strictly necessary. You misunderstand your purpose here. Your purpose is not to uncover nefarious plots against us. Do these miserable little fascists look capable of going against us? Look at the towers. Machine guns in each of them, with a full sweep of the yard. Even with those, without our guns, look at our stats. Fighting men, every one."

I know that this isn't true — most of the guards are only dangerous if they have a gun or are fighting someone untrained like me — but I let him continue.

"Danger doesn't come from masterfully plotted revolutions, for those who are put here by definition have no revolutionary spirit. It comes from the most stupid among them who blaspheme Mecha Stalin's name in private, who may decide that they don't want to work as hard as they should, or who might have a fit of anger that demoralizes the rest."

I'm not sure whether it's encouraging or discouraging that Sacha thinks our revolution has no chance. It means that he won't be expecting it, but it also speaks to the incredible difficulty of what we're about to undertake. Sacha continues, not giving me time to properly think.

"The man at breakfast a couple days ago, he caused our production to decline by ten percent that day, not to mention his own lost labor while we re-educated him. Had someone caught his lack of fervor earlier, we could have dealt with him appropriately before he caused damage to the Motherland. No, the danger is not from a counter-revolution, but from men who are not aware that they are completely surrounded by friends of the Party. And you... you are one of the friends of the party. They should be terrified to speak out against Mecha Stalin or the party, for fear that you might hear. And then, instead of punching the one who blasphemes, you report him. He will be taken in the middle of the night and tortured until he agrees with the party and shows Mecha Stalin the proper love and respect. Do you understand?"

I nod dumbly. There are so many ways that this could go wrong. If they torture a man for speaking against Mecha Stalin in private, what would they do to one who really did plot and scheme? Would they even believe it? Perhaps not, but I feel that they would torture me anyways. These guards, I remind myself, are capitalists and fascists, not true comrades. Mecha Stalin will be glad to be rid of them.

"This is much for you, I understand. You had a luxurious life as an intellectual."

I think back to my cramped apartment with the creaky bed and the drafty windows and realize that compared to anything in these camps, even the guards' quarters, it really was luxurious.

"But you are lucky. This camp is doing real work that is important to the party, and we are in constant need of men. We cannot simply throw them away like the others. That’s why discipline has been so lax. A fight even broke out for five minutes before we could intervene! Indeed, you are lucky to be here at this most lenient of camps.“

Throw them away? Sacha must mean release them early. But then how would it be considered lucky to not be released early? Surely Sacha didn't mean to work them to death! No, this was a trick. This is the worst camp, and Sacha is lying to me in order to hide his crimes. If the other camps are worse, that means that Mecha Stalin is either stupid for not seeing it or cruel for letting it go on, and I know that he's not stupid. It's much more likely that Sacha, who is hiding his stats, is lying so that others don't report him to Mecha Stalin.

I must look and see how the camp communicates with the rest of the command structure. That will be the core of our plan: get to the communication room and fend off the guards while Luka explains to Mecha Stalin all that's gone on in this camp.

I finish with the Borscht, and Sacha seems finished with his speech.

"Did you enjoy it," he asks. He already knows the answer, but he wants to hear me say it.

"Yes." I nod enthusiastically.

"Good. Next time you want Borscht, you bring me someone who's thinking of causing trouble. Until then..." he points to the line outside waiting for their half rations.

I understand, and exit quickly. After I close the door I try to make it look like I've been scolded and put up a fight. I don't know if it works.

I get in the rations line. If I didn't it would be suspicious. Besides, my stomach grumbles.

Revolution is hungry work.